At about 20 years of age an elderly gentleman asked me what I did. 'I'm an architecture student' I replied. 'Ahh', he responded, 'what a noble profession'. And it was. In 1963 I picked up a hitchhiker, Ian, in my Citroen 2CV on Doncaster Road near where I spent halcyon days as a boy, picking fruit for a pound a day. Ian also drove a 2CV, a friendship developed and soon we were picking fruit in Harcourt where we excitedly explored remnant gold diggings in our spare time, imagining what had been.
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